undergrounds | OTA; various locations and times

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OTA; various locations and times

A) One’s An Incident

“—listen to me!”

Somewhere near you, whether it’s at the park or on the sidewalk or in the café or riding the tube, there is a young man engaged in a heated conversation. The identity of the person he’s arguing with may not be readily obvious to those without supernatural hearing; the discussion is taking place over the phone. Should you attempt to tune Stiles out, it’ll quickly prove fruitless. His voice rises in volume the longer he’s on the call.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine. …No! I’m not sending you a picture of it. There’s nothing to see! …No. …No. It was just an accident, okay!?”

Distractedly, Stiles turns in your direction. There is an ugly, swollen bruise taking up half his face, clearly the work of someone’s fist. You may be able to infer that this is what the fight is about.

“—oh my god, don’t. You were the one who shipped me off here. You don’t get to pull that card on me, not now. …Dad. …Dad. Would you— …Would you just TRUST me for once!?”

Whatever his father responds with, it elicits an immediate reaction from Stiles. Expression twisting miserably, he seems to lose all energy for continuing the exchange. His voice is wooden, weary.

“Fine. I gotta go. …Yeah, I will. …Alright. Love you too.”

The call ends. Maybe you make eye contact with Stiles awkwardly. Maybe you decide to talk to him. Maybe you try to pretend you hadn’t overheard.

“Sorry about that,” he says to you, light and cheery. His smile is tight. “You know how it is. My old man always has to get his say in.”

B) Two’s A Coincidence

If you venture to the library, you’ll likely find Stiles buried nose-deep in an oversized tome. He’s piled high a wall of literature around him, to the point where it might be difficult to see him from the front. The titles of the books? All on mythology and mythical creatures. On occasion, a particularly interesting passage has him muttering under his breath and jotting down a few notes in his journal. Feel free to pull up a chair and harass him; he could use a break.

C) Three’s A Pattern

Guess who just drove his shitty used bicycle into you or your vehicle? This guy. Eyes wide, he hastily stammers out an apology, then loses his balance. Both bike and boy crash to the ground in a mess of whizzing gears and muffled groans. Maybe he took you down with him.

D) Four’s A Warrant

Night in London isn’t kind to humans—not that that’s ever stopped Stiles from exploring the city at inappropriate hours. However, there’s something different about the young man tonight as he wanders the streets aimlessly. For one, he’s clad only in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt with no shoes in sight. He doesn’t even have his trusty lacrosse stick on him! If you get close, you’ll see the unfocused, glassy fog to his eyes. Hopefully your intentions are well-meaning. Or maybe you’re looking for an easy snack. Either way, Stiles doesn’t seem to be in a position to argue.

( If you prefer brackets over prose, I’ll follow suit! PM me if you’d like to plot out a specific starter for your character! c: )

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[ Aradia slips into the room behind him, reluctant to let Stiles rampage through her house unsupervised as it is, and pointedly nudges the door closed in her wake. This is not your house dude. ]

I'm standing right here. [ It takes little effort to loop around to 'block' his way forward, stretching to wave a hand before Stiles' face - why is everyone in this city so freaking tall - in an effort to be seen. ] Are you ignoring me, or are you really that unmagical?

[ Apparently it's the latter. Just her luck that today's random chump can't see ghosts. Which is really unfortunate, given there's not a lot left in her apartment that would work to make her visible. The lights are already shattered, anything valuable long since looted... unless he brought something in? Hm.

It's a safe bet to assume that a mortal would have a phone, so it's no skin off her spectral nose to eye his pocket. And maybe poke it a little. What was that about keeping her arms to herself again? ]

[ As she’s quickly discovering for herself, Stiles really is that unmagical. The door clicks shut behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Whirling around, he rips it open again just to ensure it hasn’t been locked; fortunately, it hasn’t. ]

Okay, so, I get this is your place and all, but don’t you think you could do with some fresh, warm air in here? No? Just me? Fine. [ Grudgingly, he shuts the door. ] You’re not a very good host so far, dude. Ma’am. Miss.

[ He can't see her, he can't hear her, he can't feel her attempts to prod him, and now he's probably assuming that she's some sort of axe murderer ghost. Today is shaping up to be incredibly frustrating. ]

The air's fresh. Fresh-ish. I don't see why you think it's a problem. [ ... why does she feel so defensive over a one-sided conversation with a stranger.

It pushes her towards making a risk, at least - she's fairly confident that the faint hum of electricity that she can not-quite-feel is actually a phone, and phones mean speakers. Her ghostly presence fades, drifts towards current and batteries and plastic, and she can't help but hope she got her aim right. If she didn't, things are going to get really awkward.

Stiles' pocket goes ice cold a split second before his mobile rings. ]

Wh-...?

[ He jerks uncomfortably at the sudden cold spot that appears by his hip. As he reaches down to pat the area, the cell phone goes off and he jumps again. ]

God!

[ Heart racing, Stiles digs out his phone and stares uncomprehendingly at the gibberish on the screen. Caller ID has never been more unreliable. ]

Uh...hello?

[ If a phone had eyes, she'd be endlessly amused at making him jump, but even just hearing the brief flicker of panic does a lot to smooth some ruffled feathers. Now the fun part starts.

There's far too much static for her liking, admittedly, but it's a small price to pay for something to ground herself with. ]

To start with, being called host would mean I invited you in here. I didn't, you barged in. Terminology is important. [ From the get-go her voice is barely a shade above monotonous. Most of that is the annoyed confusion bleeding through, but it makes for a handy tool to reinforce the spooky poltergeist persona. ]

And really, that's pretty rude of you to do.

Edited (whoops grammar fucked) 2015-06-17 15:52 (UTC)

[ Alas, the moment he realizes who is speaking to him, Stiles' fear instantly evaporates. Jaw dropping, he stares at the phone in amazement before doing a little "dance" of pure excitement. ]

Oh my god, you're in my phone, that's so cool! Thanks for not, y'know, being in me instead. Totally appreciate it. Also, we're even now, because I technically didn't invite you into my phone either. Go us.

[ A deep breath. ]

So. Hiii.

[ Gosh darn it, Stiles. Why can't you be terrified of her like most people are.

Aradia can feel the phone shake, but not more then that - the giddy tone to his voice throws her off completely and the monotone drops another few degrees in response. Dude. ]

I wouldn't want to be in you, people are gross. And barging into someone's house is way more serious then possessing someone's phone. [ A pause, because that logic makes no sense, mystery teenager. The next crackling reply comes out less harsh overall, her hackles lowering slowly. He sounds far too excited to be a hunter. ]

But... you're welcome. I guess. Hi.

[ Stiles is not like most people. His father has been bemoaning this for seventeen years. ]

I've never actually been inside someone, so I can't—wow, this is a weird thing to talk about. [ And mortifying. ] Anyway, it so isn't more serious. Think about all the information you could find on someone just by digging through their cell! Their browsing history, their sexts, who they have on speed dial...

[ -- Hold up.

She'd come up with a proper, argumentative response to why barging into someone's house is way worse, but really. With the body-jumping topic leading so perfectly into it... ]

You really don't sound like someone who'd send sexts. Or who'd receive any. Which would explain why you've never been 'possessed' before.

[ Completely deadpan. She's not normally one for these particular jokes, but wasting that opportunity would be a crime. And she's still feeling a little spiteful. ]

[ The phrasing makes her words sound less like observations and more like accusations. Bristling, he gives his phone a dirty look and then points a finger at it menacingly. ]

Joke’s on you! I have been possessed before.

[ A beat, then he realizes she’d meant it as a euphemism. ]

W-wait, no. Ghost possessed. G-H-O-S-T. No one’s ever been inside me that…that other way. Not that there haven’t been opportunities! Because there have. Many. So many. Countless, even. Alright, never mind—but why do you think I look like I wouldn’t receive any sexts? That’s kinda mean. You’re a mean ghost.

[ He already has festering insecurities about his appeal to others, don't aggravate them Miss Ghost Lady :( ]

Your denial kind of makes it hard to believe.

[ His reaction is priceless. She'd feel bad if she knew the depths of Stiles' insecurities, but right now it's too much fun to tease him. And helps her confirm, in a way, that he's not here to exorcise her - after all, hunters and the like don't usually bicker about sexts with their prey. ]

It's just a hunch. You sound like you'd get tongue-tied and the other person'd throw their phone at the wall, and nobody would walk away happy. I could check if you'd like.

[ Which is an odd way of saying that she hasn't rifled through his phone. She's a nosy git, but she's got a lot more respect for electronic privacy then she used to. ]

My tongue never gets tied, thank you very much.

[ Lie. ]

And go ahead, check if you want. I routinely delete them, though. So you won’t find anything.

[ Also a lie. ]

Also, can you get out of my phone? I’d rather talk face-to-face.

[ Lie—well, not really. ]

Nothing is ever truly deleted. Not if you know where to look.

[ Well. While that totally wasn't ominously creepy at all, she sounds fractionally less b-movie poltergeist then before. It also happens to be a random factoid she'd been reminded of far too often by a grumpy hacker she used to know. So really, it's just a gift that keeps on giving, and Stiles is unlucky enough to be on the receiving end this year.

The last request gets a moment's thought, but only the one, because-- ]

And no. I tried getting your attention and you walked right through me. The phone thing was the first thing I thought of. [ She's met rocks more magical then you, Stiles. ]

[ A fact that Stiles is also intimately familiar with, and is put off to realize the ghost knows as well. His attention is quickly arrested by her response, however, and then he’s curiously patting the air in front of him as if she were still there. ]

Seriously? How come?

[ Stiles is still relatively new to ghosts, so he’s unaware it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. ]

Is it because you’re so new at this? I mean, sorta. It’s just been a few years since you died, right?

[ She can't see his confused patting, but if she could she'd point out how ridiculous it is.

As it is, the audio crackles with static briefly while Aradia shoves a quick burst of frustration back down. How did he even know that. Who even told him? ]

No. I'm getting better at manifesting. And it has nothing to do with my age. [ Which is only a fraction of a lie, and as close as she'll get. Age brings experience, and experience is the part that matters - but she's advanced enough compared to what she's supposed to be, damnit. ] You're just the magical equivalent of a brick. I could slap you and you probably wouldn't notice.

Oh.

[ This isn't exactly news, though it's never quite been worded in such a manner. Lower lip jutting out, he mulls over whether to be offended or not by his own lack of magical energy. On one hand, he's turned down a werewolf's bite once before and has yet to regret it. On the other hand, she just called him a brick. Sort of. ]

Well, I'm human. Like, the super normal type of human. Not just witchy-human or wolfy-human. But I came here to talk about you.

I guessed all of that. Though, it's traditional to bring an ouija board for this, you know.

[ The accompanying ethereal eyeroll is practically audible. Nobody has any respect for the classic parts of haunting anymore, and it breaks her little ghostly heart. ]

So. Talk then. But if you're planning on asking me to 'move on', the answer is no, and there's nothing you can do that'd change my decision.

[ Might as well throw that out onto the table where everyone can see it, if he's adamant on asking her questions. Curiosity is fascinating, but it's best to head off the inevitable mortality argument before it starts, if possible. It gets tiring after the first three times.

And if not, she's fairly confident that she can hit out a panic text in five seconds, and vanish in another five. ]

What do I care if you move on or not? [ he scoffs, propping the cell phone up to his ear with a shoulder so he can free both hands. ] So long as you’re not going around killing innocent people, it’s no big deal.

[ Backpack thumping to the floor, he crouches to rummage through it. When he finds what he’s looking for (there is a lot of miscellaneous shit in there), he brightens considerably. You’re in luck, Aradia. This kid brought an actual Ouija board—from the London equivalent of ToysRUs. It still even has the price tag on it. ]

I’ve always wanted to use one of these things… Wanna help me break it in?

[ No teenager should sound this excited. ]

[ --he didn't.

He did.

It's hard to tell without being able to see, but context gives her enough clues to understand what's going on. And honestly? Admitting he wasn't there to banish her was enough on it's own to ease back the apathy, but anyone who actually plays along with her dumb ideas of ghostly tradition gets an instant free pass on doing anything wrong ever. Congratulations, Stiles. You've made a new friend.

The phone is significantly less excited then both teenagers in the room, if the protesting static is any indication, but it can deal. We have more important things to attend to right now. ]

You have no idea. [ The hype is real. The hype is so real. ]

[ Please don’t break his cell phone, Aradia. It was very expensive. ]

Sweet! I’m gonna hang up now.

[ Only Stiles would revert to using a slower, less accessible method of communication. But this is like, the coolest thing ever. He has an Ouija board. He has a ghost. He’s going to ask the ghost questions with the Oujia board. Amazing. With a click, he ends the call and places the cell phone down on the floor beside the board; this way, if she needs to, she can quickly get in touch with him again. ]

Okay… Let’s see.

[ The instruction manual is tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. The planchette is placed on the wooden surface, with his fingers lightly touching the pointer. ]

How about we warm up with a yes or no question, first? Are you a ghost?

[ A dumb question, maybe, but might as well cover the bases. ]

[ Aww. But breaking phones is fun. 0n0

Aradia slips out of the phone the second the call drops, taking a moment to revel in the return of her ability to see - he still looks like a dork, but he actually brought an Ouija board, so she can forgive a lot - before plonking down cross-legged on the opposite side of the board.

Oddly enough, it's easier this way. There's less to break on a slab of wood, and she doesn't need to possess the planchette to use it, as it's actually designed (however jokingly) to allow ghostly access. Belief is a powerful thing, and there's over a hundred years of collective teenage superstition backing this up. What could go wrong?

She has to pull a face at that question, though. Really, Stiles, that nearly earns a sarcastic reply - but the planchette slowly tugs towards 'yes' after a moments hesitation. ]

Oh my god, it totally works! [ he shrieks in delight as the planchette slides across the wood without any pressure from his fingers. ] Holy crap, this is so neat.

[ And then he’s surging up to his feet once more, stumbling across the apartment to draw closed the blinds and snuff out every source of light. Then he tries to find his way back to the Ouija board in the dark; he didn’t think this through very well. Fortunately, there is very little damage he can do in his blind stumblings—after all, the place is already wrecked. ]

I mean, if we’re gonna do this, we should do it right, right?

[ Stiles trips over his backpack. Slowly sitting down, he digs through it once more and…pulls out two candles. ]

Hope you like the smell of “Elderflower and Lime.” Can you actually smell? Hold on.

[ Candle still unlit, he places the fingers of one hand back on the planchette. ]

Can you smell things still?

[ He's really going for full marks on the B-rated ghost flick test, huh. Luckily the raw enthusiasm is infectious - Aradia can't stop herself from breaking into a shameless fit of giggling as the room darkens, which only grows worse when Stiles trips over his bag. Maybe it's a good thing that he can't hear her laughter. His ego might not recover from such a deadly blow.

In hindsight, the lack of light could be a problem. Ghostly existence has several perks but perfect night vision is not one of them, regardless of what pop culture wants to believe, which'do been a complete letdown to discover. The faint almost-glow coating her view of the room sort-of makes up for it, even if details are lost to the fog.

But her amusement fades at the question, because that's one she actually has to think about. It's never occurred to her to check, really. ]

[ After a few moments, the planchette drifts over to 'no' with a sullen flick of telekinesis. Now she can't stop thinking about it, whyyy. ]

Edited (forgot a chunk of html whoops) 2015-06-22 04:09 (UTC)

Aw, that sucks. Though I guess it has its perks too?

[ Withdrawing a lighter from his bag, he lights both candles and sets them on either side of the board. ]

Like, boiled eggs? Smell so gross. Now you’ll never have to deal with that. …But you’ll never get to eat them either. Wow, no, that really does suck.

[ Stiles Stilinski: Professional Ghost Therapist, inadvertently convincing ghosts to accept their doors through insensitive and offhand commentary. ]

So, brace yourself, okay— [ And that’s the only warning he gives before asking, point blank… ] —Were you murdered?

[ Oh no.

It's probably for the best that Aradia wasn't in his phone anymore, if this is where the questions are headed. Bracing does nothing, defenses are useless against the instinctive gut-punch rejection of everything related to her death, why did he ask that why--

The candle flames gutter out as the temperature drops further. Ghostly panicangerfear bleed together and it crackles like white noise, excitement stifled in the face of what was such a well-meaning question. Not being a medium is finally working in Stiles' favour - he gets to skip the charming feedback her panic attack would cause, though the sudden spike of wrong is likely still tangible to mundane bricks like him.

Regardless of her feelings on the topic, the planchette creeps over to 'yes' without a moments hesitation. He didn't intend harm and if she doesn't elaborate maybe it'll stop. Hopefully. Right? ]

Edited (okay i'll stop nitpicking now i swear) 2015-06-29 00:54 (UTC)

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actually tagging this from the doctors office because this is too cute to handle

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